The Night the World Ended
by Emma the Awesome
Summary: Grace Winchester, Sam and Dean's sister, remembers only too well what happened the night their mother died- the night their normal lives crashed and burned.


Sam doesn't remember; he was six months old. Dean remembers. He was four. I don't think he knows I remember. I never talk about it- why would I want to? It's not exactly at the top of my list of happy memories. Not that I have many of those, but if I had enough to make a list, that night would not be on it. Why should I remember, anyway? I was just two. I could barely string a sentence together. But this kind of thing does tend to leave an impact on you, cute little toddler or not.

~O~

It was Sam who woke me up. I might not have noticed, otherwise. But I distinctly remember Sammy making the soft cooing noises that babies use to try and talk. We shared a room, which I was not pleased about. It was _my_ bedroom. I was here first. The new baby could go sleep on the sofa or something. He was taking up all the space. I'd tried to play nice at first, but all he ever did was chew my toys. He pulled Teddy's ears off.

Babies, in my opinion, were a stupid idea. Especially boy ones. I'd wanted a sister.

It was strange, listening to the baby-talk coming from across the room. Sammy only made that particular sound when there was a bottle in his mouth. Maybe Mommy was feeding him?

I was annoyed. Stupid baby got all her attention these days. And Daddy's. And Dean's. They liked him better than me. I sat up in bed, my fluffy brown hair sticking up at all angles from sleep.

"Why does he get to be your favourite?" I demanded. Mommy didn't turn around. I could hardly see her in the dim light emanating from the moon outside. Weird. I didn't know she had any black nightdresses. Maybe it was because it was so dark? "Mommy! How come you like Sammy best?"

"Oh... well, isn't that sweet? She thinks I'm her mother." That wasn't Mommy. It wasn't Daddy, either. It was some weird man. He still didn't turn to face me. Maybe this is where I should have started getting scared. But I was only two. All I could do was wonder why he hadn't woken me before.

"Oh, great. Another one who likes my stupid brother more than me." I was always very sarcastic, even at that age. "How come you're talking to him instead of me?" The strange man said nothing, and another thought occurred to me. "Hey! Who let you in my room, Mr Strange?"

"I let me in, kid," was his only response. So my parents didn't know he was here? He just let himself in?

"Well, you have to leave, then. You're not meant to be here. Go away or I'll get my big brother to beat you up." Or maybe I'd just kick Mr Strange's butt myself.

"Good luck with that," he said. It sounded like he was smiling. I turned my attention to the baby he was leaning over.

"What're you doing to Sammy?" I asked curiously.

"Making a couple of improvements." I didn't know what that big word he'd used meant, but I didn't like the sound of it.

"What kind of eemovents?"

"Good ones. If you were six months old, it'd be you. Actually, it might be you anyway! Two for the price of one... I guess you'd be a little older than the rest, but..." Mr Strange nodded to himself. "How do you feel about drinking something special?"

"What kind of something?" My parents told me not to take sweets from strangers, but he wasn't offering me sweets. Besides, we were talking, so he wasn't really a stranger anymore.

"Just something. It won't make any difference at first, but when you're older, it'll change you. It'll make you stronger than everyone else. You'll be better than them. Would you like that?" It sounded tempting.

"Is that what you're doing to Sammy?" I questioned. If it was, I would definitely drink it. People already thought he was wonderful. I thought he was a bit pointless. If he was going to grow up stronger than me, I wasn't going to be happy.

"Yep." He pulled away from my brother, eyes to the ground. His face was cloaked in darkness; I couldn't see it. He walked over to my bed and held his left wrist out to me.

"What do I do?"

"See how my wrist's bleeding?" Yes, I could see that it was. Gross. "All you gotta do is lick the blood off and swallow it. Can you do that?"

"Eew! No way!" That was really icky. I wasn't drinking blood! Ugh. Yuck!

"Tough," Mr Strange growled. "You don't get a choice anymore. You picked the wrong night to wake up, kid." He grabbed me by the hair and forced me head down onto the pillow, where he kept me down with his right hand clamped over my forehead. I gasped and struggled. He raised his bleeding wrist.

"No!" I pressed my lips firmly together. He couldn't make me. No way would I drink it.

"Quit squirming, you little brat!" And he finally raised his head.

His eyes. His eyes were glowing. They were yellow. And they were glowing.

I did the only thing a two year old in this situation could do.

"MOMMY!" I shrieked at the top of my lungs, batting at his wrist to stop the blood falling into my mouth. He hissed at me, and I screamed as loudly as I could. Across the room, Sammy began to cry. Down the hall, I could hear voices.

"Mary, it's fine. I'll go."

"No, it's okay. You know I handle nightmares better than you." Then there was the sound of feet padding down the hall, the handle of the door turning.

"Grace? Are you okay?" I struggled harder than ever.

"Get him off me!" I howled.

"Grace? What-" The door was wrenched open and my mother burst into the room. She took a couple of steps forward- then gasped and froze.

"Mommy- help me!" I sobbed. She didn't seem to notice me.

"You!" She hissed at Mr Strange. She knew him? "Get away from my daughter, you son of a bitch!"

"Mary; great to see you again." By the light of his eyes, I could just make out the grin on Mr Strange's face.

"Get out of my house!" She snapped. "And I swear, come near my family again and I'll-"

"Oh, I don't think you'll do anything. You invited me in, remember? In exchange for your little boyfriend's life." He released me and took a step towards her. I pulled the covers up to my chin, terrified but unable to look away. "Are these kids his? That girl's a lot more like you than him. Stubborn little brat. Doesn't know what's good for her."

"What did you do to my kids?" She growled.

"Kid. Singular. Your daughter just wouldn't cooperate. Little Sammy, on the other hand..."

"Grace, what did he do?" I made a squeaking, frightened noise, but no words came out. "Tell me what he did!"

"He- he- I think he made him drink his blood. And he tried to make me, but I-"

"But like I told you, she was a stubborn little brat." Mr Strange laughed softly. "And you know what else she is?"

"One more word and I'll send you straight back to Hell."

"She's the only one who's gonna remember tonight- presuming someone comes and rescues her."

"Omnis immundis- ah!" She broke off with a cry as she was flung back against the wall, arms spread out. She didn't kick or struggle. It was like she was frozen.

"Mommy!" I wailed. I hopped off the bed and ran at Mr Strange, throwing myself at his legs. "Let her go!" He flicked me off with a twist of his left hand- the right was being used to keep Mommy held to the wall. I bounced back and attacked again, baring my teeth and hissing like a cat, trying to bite through the clothes and the skin.

"You wanna end up on the ceiling too?" He snapped.

"The... ceiling?" That wasn't a ceiling, that was a wall.

"Do I take that as a no?"

"I-"

"Then back off!" I landed on my back, staring up at the lampshade, the white wallpaper, and-

"No!" I cried. "Let her back down!"

"I don't think so." And the world went black.

~O~

"Grace? What're you doing on the floor? And where'd your Mom go?" Daddy. Daddy was here. No Mr Strange. And no Mommy, either. Not that I could see much- Daddy was leaning over me and his face was blocking most of the room.

"Daddy, there was a strange man in my room with yellow eyes, and he got Sammy to drink his blood, and he tried to get me to but I wouldn't swallow it, and then he stuck Mommy on the ceiling and-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It was just a dream, okay? There's no one with yellow eyes in here. Come on. Lets get you back in bed, alright?" He didn't believe me. No. No, I knew I was right. I had to make him see.  
As it turned out, I didn't have to. As he was scooping me up, he froze.

"Gracie, what's that on your face?" I swiped at my cheek. Something wet. Sticky.

Blood.

"It's his! Mr Strange's! He was bleeding over my head, and- Daddy, what's wrong?" He was frowning, looking at me but not really seeing me. He raised one hand and placed it on top of his head and rubbed at his hair, then brought it back down to stare at it. There was something dark on his fingers.

We both looked up.

And I no longer needed to convince him.

Before either of us could react, before I could scream, before anyone could do anything, the ceiling exploded with a sound like the end of the world.

Flames engulfed the room.

Sammy cried louder than ever.

And I knew I would never see my mother again.

~O~

"Go find Dean and take Sammy outside as fast as you can. Now, Grace! Go!" I didn't need to be told twice. Struggling to hold my baby brother- I was only two, remember, and he was only a few inches shorter than I was- I stumbled down the corridor as fast as my legs would carry me. I had only taken a few steps when I almost ran into Dean.

"Grace?"

"Daddy says we have to go outside," I choked out between sobs. "The ceiling's on fire, and- and Mommy's stuck to it. We have to go outside. We have to go." Alarm flooded his face. He was two years older, and knew a lot more about the effects of fire than I did. But he didn't say a word. Instead, he turned back and made a beeline for my room.

"No!" I called after him. I tried to catch up, but I wasn't fast enough. He made it to the door, before abruptly stopping and staring in horror. Then he spun round and rushed back to me. Unable to hold Sammy any longer, I held out my arms and Dean took him from me.

"C'mon!" Together, the three of us trundled down the stairs and out the front door (the handle, fortunately, was low enough for me to reach when I jumped), into the cold night air. There, in the garden, we stood staring up at my window, from which a bright orange glow now emanated. There were no words. There was nothing to say. We knew. We _knew_. Then-

"Run!" Daddy was hurrying towards us. I blinked, confused. Why run? The fire was inside. We weren't. I didn't have the chance to voice these thoughts, though. The next thing I knew, I was being scooped up and held by his left arm, Dean held by the right as he clung to Sammy. Behind us, there was a sound of shattering glass and I somehow knew it was the windows exploding.  
I also knew that only one of my parents had made it outside.

~O~

That's really all there is to tell. I don't know why I thought it was a good idea to write all this crap down. Why did I want to revisit one of the worst nights of my life?

Maybe because I wanted to see how it all started. The night that life ended, and the one I live now began. There's no way out. You become a hunter, you stay a hunter all your life.

Not Sam, though.

He left for Stanford today. I wish I could be angry at him for leaving us, but I'm actually really proud. I think Dean is too, but he won't admit it. I'm glad my little brother got away.

But what about me? I never wanted this. Why the hell am still doing this? I'm through. I've spent the last eighteen years playing my role as a good daughter, blindly swallowing orders, never daring to question Dad. Blowing into town on the wind, ganking the local monster and blowing out again, like we were never here at all. I'm so done with this crap! Dammit, how did Sam get out when I didn't? I don't want this. I SAID I'M THROUGH!

Sorry about the line of ink across the page. The pen flew out of my hand. Okay, fine, maybe I threw it. I don't know why I'm apologising. It's not like anyone's reading this apart from me.

Alright, time to throw this damn piece of paper on the fire. Dad would kill me if he saw it. He's in a bad mood anyway, and naturally, he's taking it out on me and Dean. I hate him sometimes. I hate living like this. I hate-

Shut up, Grace. Don't start whining about how unfair it is again. Life's unfair. So suck it up and move on.

Hunting isn't something you just give up. But maybe, just maybe, I'll escape one day. But I won't have a normal life. I will never be normal.


End file.
